Chapter 5
Cecily and Lavinia were sitting in the parlor together.
Lavinia was reading her book as Cecily embroidered.
Lavinia knew well enough how necessary those quiet moments were for her sister.
Cecily would need her heart protected and her wits about her to be able to live with their father with any amount of sanity.
Lavinia glanced up from her book and watched her sister.
Cecily’s needle moved with quick, precise stitches.
Her brows were somewhat furrowed. It was the same expression she had worn as a child, her tongue between her teeth, determined to get every detail exactly right. Lavinia smiled as she saw it.
That look has not changed, even if everything else about my dear sister has.
Cecily was not the same small, weepy child she had been. She was growing into a spectacular young lady, even if their father was blind to the growth and still saw her as the little girl who cried at the sight of a mouse.
Cecily was almost twenty-one. Old enough, by their family’s estimations, to be married off to whichever suitable young man came calling with the right income or the right name. Lavinia’s heart clenched in her chest. She would not allow her sister to be sold off like cattle.
“You are staring,” Cecily said, without looking up from her work. Lavinia startled, her eyes wide and let out a laugh.
“I am admiring my sister’s needlework,” she replied warmly.
“You are worrying,” Cecily replied, grinning. She looked up at Lavinia with a knowing look. “You always get that crease in your brow when you are worrying. The deeper it gets, the more worried you are. And I know you well enough to know you are worrying about me.”
“I am allowed to worry about my sister,” Lavinia said, picking up her book again.
“You are,” Cecily agreed. “But I would remind you that I am not as fragile as you seem to believe. I have survived our father well enough for the twenty years I have been in this world. I shall likely survive a few more.”
Lavinia reached over and squeezed her sister’s shoulder before returning to the pages of her book. Even though she was looking at the words, she was not reading. Not truly. She had to close her eyes and try again.
Cecily is correct… But our father is a stubborn and ill-tempered man.
Silence filled the space around them again. Birds sang outside, the smell of wildflowers and grass blew through the open window, fluttering the gauze curtains.
The quiet was broken as a maid walked in.
“Your Grace,” she said gently, “the groundskeeper has let us know that an unfamiliar man has been seen on the grounds of the estate.”
“An unfamiliar man?” Lavinia asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes,” the maid nodded. “None of the staff have been able to recognize him, and he has been very interested in some of the gardens.”
“Oh my,” Cecily said with wide eyes.
“Indeed,” Lavinia agreed, putting her book down. “I should go to see what is happening.”
“I must come with you,” Cecily said, standing with her.
“No,” Lavinia shook her head. “He might be dangerous.”
“That is exactly why I should come with you,” Cecily argued.
“I will never hear the end of it from Father if you are harmed,” Lavinia countered, walking over to the table where she picked up a sharpened letter opener. “If I am harmed, I have people who will make sure I am taken care of here.”
“But…” Cecily’s voice trailed off.
“I will take a footman with me so that I am not in any real danger,” Lavinia said as she turned toward the door.
Lavinia took a deep breath outside. What had once appeared as an imposing fortress of a home had softened over time.
She had mapped the layout of the gardens, the secret routes and desired paths, and taken the time to understand the gray walls.
Perhaps that was why the news of the trespassser felt like such a threat.
Someone was not approaching her prison, but her sanctuary.
She could see the group of maids huddled at the side of the eastern gardens, looking out toward where two men were standing.
One of them, she had seen outside of the bookshop the day before. The other…
Dark eyes.
Dark, slightly curled hair.
“Oh for heaven’s sake,” she hissed under her breath before she stormed forward with the footman. “Dear sir, we really must stop meeting in such a way. State your name and the reason that you appear everywhere I have been in the last several days!”
He startled at her voice, and his eyes immediately landed on the weapon in her hands.
“Your Grace, I can—” he stepped forward. The footman immediately tried to block his path.
“I did not ask for an excuse! I asked for your name!” she shouted.
The man looked at the footman, then at the letter opener again.
He seemed to pause before leaping forward toward them.
Lavinia did not hesitate. She thrust the letter opener forward, past the footman.
The opener pierced the air as the man grabbed her wrist.
“Unhand me!” she shouted.
“Not until you listen to me!” he shouted back.
“I would listen if you would answer me!”
For a moment, neither of them moved. His grip on her wrist was firm, but not harmful, and she was aware of the warmth of his hand, even with the fury pounding in her ears.
The footman had gone rigid at her side, clearly uncertain whether to intervene, his eyes darting between his mistress and the stranger holding her.
“Release the duchess at once,” the footman said. His voice was cracking slightly from obvious nerves.
“I intend to,” the man replied. Even so, he made no move to do so.
His eyes were dark and fixed on her, searching, and there was something in his gaze that gave her pause.
It was not the calculating look she had come to expect from men in her home.
It was something closer to desperation, or even fear.
It did not lessen the white-hot anger coursing through her, though.
“Then do so,” Lavinia replied. She lifted her chin, doing her best to look as intimidating and furious as she felt inside.
“I am going to,” he replied. “I just do not trust that you will not try to harm me.”
“And I do not trust that you will leave my estate without incident,” she replied.
“I can be a gentleman.”
“You have not acted like a gentleman in the two times I have met you,” Lavinia hissed.
“I have had my reasons for my less-than-ideal behavior,” he insisted.
“There is never a reason to be cruel to a lady,” she replied. “And nothing of your behavior has convinced me that if you could be so ungentlemanly in public, then there is every chance you could harm me here.”
“I will not harm you,” he promised.
“If you do not release me I shall scream,” she replied.
His face paled. “There is no reason to,” he said.
“You are still holding my wrist,” she replied.
“You are holding a letter opener!”.
Lavinia’s eyes narrowed. She began to take in a long, exaggerated breath. The man’s eyes widened.
“Wait!” he cried out, releasing her wrist and stepping back as quickly as he could. “I mean no harm,” he added, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. “My name is Roderick Vale. I am the son of the Duke of Alderwick. I have documents to prove who I am and why I have a right to be here.”
Lavinia’s heart froze in her chest.
The duke never informed me that he had a child…
“I see…” she hissed.
“I do not believe this is your land,” he continued. “I believe, it is in fact, mine. He was married to my mother…”
“That does not mean—”
“There is more,” he said. “But I do not wish to speak of such things in front of an audience…”
She looked back over her shoulder. The maids were still watching them.
The footman’s face had paled. As much as she detested the man in that moment, he was making a good point about the visibility of the incident.
He could easily create more of a scene, have cause for the maids to spread rumors, and destabilize her position in the house.
She could not allow that to happen.
“Show me the documents,” she said coldly. He nodded, reaching back to his companion beside him, who looked as though he might become sick right there on the grass.
She unfolded the first paper with hands that were not quite steady.
A birth certificate.
The ink was faded, but legible. It named one Roderick Vale, born to one Elspeth Vale. He had been born in the spring, thirty years before. Her eyes traced over the faded ink, over the seal, over the date. She closed her eyes and moved onto the next one.
Letters from a physician.
It appeared that Elspeth Vale was not the healthiest woman. Shortly after giving birth, she had been treated for old bruises, broken bones, and pneumonia. It was a miracle the woman had survived, until the next document.
Proof of death of this man’s mother.
She had died about two months after Lavinia’s marriage to the late duke.
Her eyes traced the words, and she looked over the name of the place she was buried.
It was a village she had seen on the map.
One that she had passed through several times.
She had even seen the small church. She shook her head and moved onto the next document.
Her heart stopped as she saw it. It had been torn out of a bag or from fabric, neat holes evenly spaced around the edge of it, threads still attached. She swallowed hard.
A marriage certificate…
If this is real, then he has a better claim to the estate than I do.
“My solicitor will examine these,” she said, forcing her voice to remain cold despite her heart pounding in her chest.
“I understand,” he nodded. “Please, take the time you need, but I can assure you that these documents are legitimate.”
“Forgive me, but I cannot simply take your word for truth,” she said.
“That is… understandable, I suppose,” he replied.
She nodded and turned away from Roderick, her mind whirling as she moved back toward the house.
Realizing her footsteps were being echoed, Lavinia looked over her shoulder.
Mr. Vale was following her.
“Stop,” she demanded, turning to face him.
“Stop what?” he asked.